Raging Stallion says: Jesse Santana gets hotter with every film. The torn sleeves of his plaid shirt expose the ropy muscles of his arms, and his abs rock as he pummels Heath Jordan’s face. Spit rains down, helping to lubricate that fat shaft so that Heath can swallow every millimeter. Jesse’s balls are heavy with jizz as he lowers his jeans, kneeling to trade positions.
Heath’s thighs tower like twin tree trunks. Intent on deep throating Heath’s shaft, Jesse looks up for approval through a forest of fur. The assault advances, with Heath’s meaty haunches now being the target. A canvas-covered work table provides ballast for Jesse to drill and thrill Heath’s bear hole in rhythmic thrusts captured from above and below so that the widening of every crack and crevice is recorded.
The throbbing of the veins on Jesse’s head and the sudden flush of red that overtakes Heath’s face and chest signals that this encounter is about to conclude —leaving each of them drenched in the other’s crossfire of cum. Like the leader of the tribe asserting his dominance, Jesse thumps with his fists on Heath’s chest.
